


Create the Future

by Corycides



Series: 100 Fics in 100 Days [48]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen, future!series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After they turned the power on...what then?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Create the Future

  
  


After it was all over, Charlie didn't have the heart any more. There was blood on her hands – more than she'd ever condemned Monroe for – and she didn't have anyone left to rescue or fight or live for. They were all dead. So she just...left one night, walking out of the victory celebrations and turning west.

She didn't stop until she reached the Wastelands, huge, stony and hard-scrabble. No-one there cared about one scarred girl with worn-to-holes soles in her boots, and that was just what Charlie wanted. She was sick of people caring about her, sick of caring for them back.

It was easy to get lost. They had power again, but it didn't fix everything. The militias had power too, and they wanted to keep it, and the world from before was still buried under the detritus of 15 years. Even once things started to normalise, the Wastelands – poor, independent and no trouble to anyone – wasn't top of anyone's list. No new roads for them, or crews repairing fibre-optic cables and rigging the new amplification receptors to give every house.

They got the news though – eventually - unrest. dissent in the new government. A new war.

Charlie minded her bar – she liked to think that would have amused Miles, listened to the rumours and minded her own business. She added a rifle and her old sword to the shotgun behind the bar, though. That was just good sense.

The first receptor was built down by the river the year Charlie turned 30. She felt older. People in slick suits with white, slick bars implanted in their temples to access the net turned up in towns, buying up land and putting the local's noses out of joint.

'You won't know this place once we're finished with it,' Kitty Ming, representative of Pittman Industries, said. She was in her 50s, sharp and pretty and focused. None of the slick people were younger than 40. Kids who'd grown up like Charlie had? They didn't have the skills to 'adapt to the new paradigm'. 'You'll have a mall, somewhere to work, something to drink that wasn't brewed up in the basement.'

Down the bar a scruffy young man in battered jeans laughed into his whiskey. 'So everyone gets to work in your factories, spend their money in your shops and drink your whiskey? It sounds like you can't lose for winning.'

Ming gave him a sour look, finished her whiskey and left. The man glanced at Charlie, all open smiles and bright eyes. 'What about you, ma'am? You fancy bowing the head to some old fogey who thinks the past is the promised land?'

'I think I'm not that fond of being called 'ma'am',' Charlie said. 'And I don't want any trouble.'

He sipped his whiskey. 'Maybe trouble's going to find you. My name's Sam, Sam Garrison.'

'Good for you.'

He didn't take the hint. Next night he was back, and the night after that – with a growing group of friends sharing his table. Young, hungry, resentful friends. Charlie served their drinks and sent them on their way when they started getting too rowdy.

'You could meet somewhere else,' she said, gathering the glasses off the table. 'Somewhere private.'

Sam sat back and grinned over his whiskey. 'Now that would just look suspicious, ma'am,' he said. 'Besides, I like the company here.'

She ignored _that_ part of his comment. 'It's that bad?' she asked.

For the first time Sam lost his smile. 'Worse, some places,' he said. 'They've written us off. You know what they call us in the Senate, you an me? The lost generation. We're just...chaff.Maybe you should sit in on a meeting?'

'Maybe not,' she said. 'I'm not much of a joiner.'

Three weeks later and a cadre of soldiers kicked her door in just before closing and ordered everyone onto their knees. Charlie stayed on her feet, so did a lot of other people. Wastelanders didn't much like being told what to do, especially not by people who'd never wanted anything to do with them.

'What's this about?' someone asked.

'Having a drink in peace is a crime now?'

'Get that gun out of my face-'

One of the soldiers, face anonymous behind a tinted visor, jabbed the butt of his rifle into Greg Jackson's face. His nose splattered over his face and he staggered back, spitting blood between his fingers.

'Please everyone,' a pleasant, reasonable voice said. 'We're not here to cause any trouble, we're looking for a terrorist.'

Aaron walked in. His beard was grey now and he was wearing a glossy grey suit with a soft blue tie. The soldiers stepped aside for him.

'Sam Garrison,' he said, looking around. 'He's not one of you. He's just here to cause trouble, to stand in the way of progress.'

Nobody said a word. Aaron's mouth tightened. 'This isn't a game. Garrison is a dangerous man. He's wanted for acts of terrorism, for blowing up the receptor plant in Dallas.'

'Good for him,' an anonymous voice muttered.

'Hiding Garrison is a crime,' Aaron snapped. 'I will have you all charged with aiding and abetting-'

He never had been good at telling when a room was turning on him. Before he could dig his way any deeper though, Sam stood up. He held his hands where they could be seen.

'I'm here,' he said. 'These people don't want any trouble, Senator Pittman. Although, they might want to think about the conflict of interest in a senator using the army to protect his private business concerns.'

Aaron shook his head and gestured to the soldiers. 'We're rebuilding this country, Mr Garrison, whether you like it or not.'

'Your country,' one of the boys at Sam's table piped up resentfully.

'Take them in too,' Aaron said. 'Make sure he's not spread his poison.'

Greg wiped blood off his face and started to his feet, hands clenched into fists. Catching his eye, Charlie gave a quick shake of her head. Somewhat to her surprise he did as he was told, dropping back into his seat. Aaron and his soldiers gathered up Sam and his friends and marched them out of the building.

He didn't even give the woman behind the bar a first glance, never mind a second. Once he was gone everyone turned to look at Charlie. 

'What we going to do?' Pete Jackson demanded. 'We ain't standing for this. They can't just come in here and arrest us for doing but talking.'

Agreement muttered through the room. Right now they were all waiting to see what Charlie said, probably because it was her bar, but all she had to do was stay quiet and someone else would take over. Someone who probably didn't have even the half clue she enjoyed.

'We get them out,' she said, lifting her shotgun and setting it the bar. 'We make sure no one gets hurt.'

a


End file.
